“Pick one.”

We were at a private, yet surprisingly crowded play party at an investment banker’s ultra-chic loft on Barclay Street near the Seaport. Grahame knew some very rich and powerful people, much like himself, who needed to keep low profiles. They all belonged to Privileged, a club of select kinksters who threw ‘networking’ parties on the third Friday of every month, far from the watchful and no doubt disapproving eyes of the hoi polloi. Nothing was off-limits at one of these $1,000 per person events—fire play, meat hook suspension, sex on display—you could, and usually would, see edgeplay at its edgiest at a Privileged fete. (The money would cover the elaborate food and drink selection as well as the cost of the doctors kept on call at the event—just in case.) You’d also usually see me being strung up and tortured in some way—‘Dana on Parade’ is what Grahame liked to call it—an elaborate and ever-cha...

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